Pirate's Gold (11 page)

Maren's briefcase stood near the desk. She was surprised to note that it seemed to belong in this private room. Dismissing the thought, she picked it up and turned to face Kyle. “I think I should go now,” she stated, clutching the briefcase in a death grip.

“You have what you came after?”

She hesitated slightly. “Yes…”

“The least I could do is offer you dinner.” His voice was low and seductive. The shadowed room began to close in on her.

“You did that last night, and I appreciated it.”

“I have reservations at a nearby restaurant, and I'd much rather dine with you than spend the evening alone. It's your choice…” He smiled engagingly and Maren knew she'd lost the battle. More than anything else, she wanted to stay with this enigmatic man with the mysterious gray eyes.

A small smile graced her face. “You've convinced me,” she agreed. “I'd like nothing better.”

 

T
HE RESTAURANT WASN'T FAR
from Kyle's house. The ancient structure had originally housed an order of monks but had fallen into disuse until recently, when it had been renovated into a secluded restaurant and hotel. The original gardens had been restored to lush grandeur, and the ancient woodwork had been polished to a warm luster. The smooth stones of the floor were only partially covered by new carpets, and electricity illuminated the rooms where only candles had burned in the past. Waiters dressed in somber brown robes brought the dishes to the table, and Maren felt as if she had been thrust backward in time.

“Do you come here often?” she asked, taking a final sip of burgundy.

“When I can,” Kyle replied. “I like it here, maybe because it's so quiet.”

“A strange statement from a man in your profession,” Maren observed.

“Not so strange. Everyone needs a little solitude in his life. Especially a person who is a public figure.” Candlelight flickered in his eyes, and Maren noticed a deep pain lingering in his gaze. She had the uncanny sensation that she should comfort him, but refrained from putting her hand on his by telling herself to wait and try to remain objective. The feelings beginning to well within her would only complicate her life. She couldn't afford to feel obligated to another man; not now, when she was still tied to Brandon. The fact that she wasn't married to him wasn't the issue: Brandon still depended upon her financially.

Kyle drove back to the house without speaking, and Maren was content to stare into the black night. The silence gave her time to think and consider the situation. She was tempted to stay with Kyle, to spend a weekend of pleasure with this captivating man—and yet, she was wary.

When Kyle parked the car, he withdrew the keys from the ignition before turning to face her in the darkness. His eyes were as dark as the night. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” The question was simple, but another, deeper, unasked question lingered between them. Gently his fingers touched her chin, and her eyes closed.

“Yes,” she whispered, accepting anything he could offer and knowing it to be an incredible mistake.

She felt his nearness as he helped her from the car. Though he didn't touch her as they walked toward the house, she could feel his eyes caressing her, and she found herself wanting to know what it was like to be touched by Kyle Sterling.

Upon entering the kitchen, Maren relaxed slightly. In the blaze of the electric lights, the seductive spell woven in the ancient monastery was broken. The kitchen was airy and light. Maren glanced appreciatively at the warm clay-colored tiles and the contrasting hand-painted tiles glazed in rich hues of blue and gold. Green plants were clustered near the windows, and shining brass pots hung from the ceiling.

“A gourmet's delight,” Maren commented, running her fingers against the cool tiles.

Kyle smiled as if amused at the thought. “I don't know how gourmet she is, but Lydia seems to like it in here,” Kyle observed as he heated the coffee.

“Lydia?” Maren's tongue nearly tripped over the unfamiliar woman's name.

“My housekeeper.” Kyle poured the coffee into cups and added a little brandy to the steaming brew. “Actually, she's more than just a housekeeper.” Maren swallowed with difficulty. “She helped raise me when my parents moved here from North Carolina. She's a Mexican-American who's lived with me off and on from the time I was nine.”

“So much for your country image.”

“Just don't let on to my agent.”

“You still have one?”

Kyle shook his head. “No. Thank God those days are gone.” He frowned into his coffee cup, as if calculating how much of his life story he should divulge to Maren. “Lydia came to work for me after Holly was born…but Rose never cared much for Lydia. When Rose and I were divorced, Rose got custody and refused to let Lydia stay on. So Lydia came here to take care of the place.”

Rather than dwell on the personal aspects of his story that seemed to make him uncomfortable, Maren changed the subject. “One woman looks after all of this?”

“I let her hire the help she needs.”

“Isn't this house a little overpowering for one man?” Maren asked. “Especially when it's your second home?”

Kyle frowned and looked out the window into the darkness. “I guess you could say that,” he acquiesced. “I certainly didn't buy it with the intention of letting it sit idle.” He set his cup on the table and concentrated on the night. “But, at the time, I didn't know any better. I always thought I would fill it with a lot of kids…” He shrugged. “It just didn't turn out that way.” His voice and eyes seemed distant, as if he were locked in a past he couldn't accept.

Maren shifted uneasily and set her empty cup next to his. His brooding silence was as uncomfortable as a tight-fitting shroud, and just as bleak. “I didn't mean to pry,” she offered, wondering at the pain he silently bore.

“You didn't.”

“It's none of my business.”

Without hesitation, Kyle crossed the room to wrap his arms possessively around her waist. He was standing behind her and his warm breath fanned the back of her neck. Without thinking about the consequences of her actions, she folded her arms over his, tightening the embrace. His voice was low and persuasive. “I asked you to come and stay with me. I expected you to inquire about personal aspects of my life. It's only natural.”

“For some teenage groupie maybe—”

“Shh…. For anyone.” He kissed the back of her neck and felt the air rush out in a sigh from her lungs. “There are things I'd like to know about you,” he admitted, gently tugging on her jacket and removing it.

“Such as?”

“Everything.” He tossed the jacket over the back of a chair and guided her toward the door leading to the porch. “Let's take a walk.”

“Now?”

He flashed a charming smile—the same smile she had seen in numerous promotional posters when he was still the nation's most-photographed country singer. Slowly he released her waist and took one of her hands in his. “Come on.”

He helped her down the worn steps running along the face of the cliff, and when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, he kicked off his shoes and encouraged her to do the same. “This is the best time of day,” he announced with a wicked smile.

“It's night.”

“Yes, but the sand is still warm even though the sky is dark.”

He coiled his fingers over hers and gently forced her hand into the pocket of his pants. Through the soft lining of the pocket, Maren could feel the movement of his thigh muscles with each of his strides. “So I take it you're a night person,” she observed, trying to concentrate on the conversation and ignore the warm flesh straining beneath her fingertips.

He frowned pensively into the incipient night. “I don't sleep much,” he admitted. “When I was on the road, late nights were common. I guess I never got out of the habit.”

They walked near the ocean's edge. The sand was wet but firm, and their feet left soft impressions near the frothy waves. Occasionally the sea would rush over Maren's bare feet, splashing against her legs and threatening to dampen the hem of her sundress. The first stars began to wink above the fading streaks of light from the sunset.

“I think I owe you an explanation,” Kyle decided aloud.

“About what?” Maren noticed the change in his voice. He seemed to be tossing something around in his mind. She slid a glance in his direction and noticed that his frown had deepened into a black scowl. In the darkness his features appeared more severe—as if he had suffered wounds too deep to bear.

“I know that you overheard part of my conversation with Rose.”

Maren braced herself. “Not intentionally.”

“I know.” Kyle smiled sadly. “It doesn't matter. The point is that now that you're here with me, you're entitled to know what's going on.”

Maren stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Kyle to do the same. How much did she want to know of this man? She didn't want to hear anything that might endear him to her further. Her blue eyes held his. “You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to,” she whispered. “You're not obligated to say a word about that conversation or any part of your private life. I didn't come here to intrude—”

“Why
did
you come?” he demanded, surveying her with renewed interest. “And don't give me that garbage about Festival Productions, there's more to it than that!”

He took his hand from his pocket and drew her to him. The sea breeze ruffled his thick near-black hair. Danger sparked his intense gray eyes. His fingers coiled tightly over her bare arms, his jaw clenched threateningly. “Why can't you admit that you came here to be with me? Is that so difficult?”

“Of course I came to see you—”

“Because you want me!” All of the pent-up frustration was tearing at him. He had been patient with Rose, with Holly and now with Maren. But the strain of the last six months was tearing him apart, and he couldn't deal with another woman who wouldn't face the truth.

Anger sparked in her cool blue eyes. “I'll admit that I want you, Kyle, if that's what you want to hear. But I loathe the idea of being compared to one of those starry-eyed teenagers who see you as a God. Country Singer, Record Mogul, Songwriter,
God.
”

“I'm only asking that you look at me as a man.” His voice was as low as the softly rushing tide. “And that frightens you.”

Her lips trembled before she steadied herself. She leveled her gaze upward, giving no hint of the quivering emotions erupting within her. “It would be easy to say that I'm not afraid of you or what you represent, but that would be a lie, Kyle. I am afraid. I'm not used to dealing with men who are so pushy and forward. And I don't know how to react to you!”

“Reactions should be automatic,” he replied, pushing his body against hers, fitting his legs around hers, pressing against her, muscle to muscle. The thin fabric of her sundress was a frail barrier against the hard power of his muscular frame.

“When reactions are automatic, and no logical thought controls actions, one person is lost to another.” She tried to still the hammering of her heart; attempted to ignore the warm pressure of his hands against the small of her back.

“I wish I understood you,” he moaned.

“Try, damn it, just try! Can't you see? I'm trying desperately not to confuse physical lust with mental attraction.”

“Is there a difference?” he growled as his lips touched the crook of her neck and a shiver of anticipation skittered up her spine.

“I hope so,” she answered. “Dear God, I hope so…”

His fingers splayed against the bare skin of her back. The rose-colored halter dress was little defense against the warmth of his palms. His lips touched her eyelids and slid over her cheeks. In a voice that was raw with tortured emotions, he whispered against her ear: “What is it you want from me?”

A lump rose in her throat. “I need to know that this is not just physical need…. I…I have to know that some of the attraction is mental.”

“Oh, God,” he swore as if the breath were torn from his lungs. “Can't you see what you do to me? Don't you know that the agony, the frustration, is as much in the mind as the body? Contrary to what you might think, Maren, I'm not a horny teenager chasing anything that moves. I haven't wanted a woman for some time now.” His broad shoulders slumped with the weight of this admission. “But with you, it's different. I haven't been able to think of anything but you since I left you last night.” With one hand he pulled her head away from him, twining his fingers in the long dark strands of her hair and compelling her to look into his passion-glazed eyes.
“Last night was the loneliest night of my life.”

If only she could believe him. She wanted with all of her heart to think that she alone would make such a lasting impression on him, but she was realistic enough to understand that his words were gentle words of seduction. Their meaning was lost in the warm, enticing mystique of night.